Realization
by Silver Rising
Summary: Draco feels things he never allowed himself to feel before. Draco/Harry
1. Default Chapter

I don't hate you. How can I? When I feel your mouth on mine, when your hands are pumping me, when I'm fucking you so hard we both shake.  
  
I don't hate you. Not when I'm biting you and making you gasp and moan. Not when I'm sucking you. Not when I make you cry out my name as you come.  
  
I don't hate you. I taunt you during the day, saying hateful words, relishing in your anger and sadness. I crave to see you broken. But I don't hate you. I know later I'll be screwing you, and so do you, and it helps.  
  
I don't hate you. But you hate me, when the tears fall and I laugh, and you want to leave but you can't, and I always know that you'll come back for more.  
  
I don't hate you. It takes too much effort, and frankly, you're not worth it. I enjoy the fucking - don't get me wrong. I enjoy you sweaty and panting and digging your nails into my skin.  
  
But I don't hate you. To hate you is to feel for you, and that is something that I will never be able to do.  
  
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You cried one night. It filled me with glee. You didn't want to, but your eyes turned red, and I could see them glistening. You turned your head but I grabbed your chin and I forced you to look at me, to let me see you break down. And in that moment you hated me. You let yourself feel the rush of emotion that I could never be bothered with.  
  
You cried one night. I saw the tears stream down your face, I watched as you bit your lip and drew blood, and I watched as your hands shook. I listened to your quick intakes of breath, and I realized that you hated crying, and you hated me, and you hated being forced to cry in front of me.  
  
You cried one night. It was the first time I'd seen you cry. If I had emotions I would have been startled, but I don't, and I wasn't. You shouted that I was a bastard, that I was a coward, that you hated me.  
  
You broke down and cried harder than before, when I told you that I didn't care enough to feel for you.  
  
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Weasley wants to kill me. He has since before he ever met me. Old disagreements filter into modern rivalries and we play the part we're supposed to play. We're supposed to be enemies, we're supposed to snipe and argue, and one day, one of us is supposed to kill the other. But we're not supposed to be involved with one of our best friends. We're not supposed to hurt them as we pleasure them.  
  
Weasley wants to kill me. Every time I insult him, or his family, or his mudblood girlfriend, or his pathetic hero. I can see the hurt that flashes in his eyes when I spit acidic words at him. I can see the anger that follows, when Granger cries or you take a step forward and glare. I can see the pain that my words evoke, the refusal to accept the truth, the fear that I may be the one to awaken him.  
  
Weasley wants to kill me. He wants to prove himself in a world that's uncertain. Few things can give him satisfaction, and to see me fall would be the ultimate high point in a life of poverty. He would like nothing more than to be the one to thrust the sword in, and he would like nothing more to twist it as he does so, just so he can give me as much pain as he possibly can.  
  
Weasley wants to kill me because I hurt all that he's close to. He wants me to feel the pain I so effortlessly give out. He wants to avenge his friends and his family, and show that I am nothing but filth. He wants to kill me to show Granger that she is better. He wants to kill me to get me back. He wants to kill me to end the cycle.  
  
Weasley wants to kill me because I broke your heart.  
  
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I lie awake and look at the full moon. It glows brightly, spilling light onto my body as I lie in my bed, the curtains open. Sometimes it's blinding, and I can't see, and I feel that if I were to shut out the light it would be too late, and I would be forever cursed with darkness.  
  
I lie awake and look at the full moon. My head is pounding and the reassurance of the moon eases the pain. I can stare at it for hours and it will remain the same, as cold and far away as ever, like myself. It's unmoved and it's untouched, and no one can mar it's beauty. It's too cold to be burned by the heat of emotions.  
  
I lie awake and look at the full moon. It's beautiful in it's simplicity, like an unbroken heart that gives you hope. It reminds you that there is something good in the world. You said before that you loved full moons. You say they inspire you. You've always fallen for the untouchable.. You've always wanted that which does not love you - cannot love you. You've always wanted the impossible.  
  
I lie awake and look at the full moon, and I think of you, and in that moment I hate myself.  
  
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You're hurt. Yet you brush by me and ignore me, and refuse to send a glance my way. You act as though you never cared, and you act as though your heart wasn't torn from your chest, wasn't broken into pieces, wasn't ripped carelessly by someone you loved. You act as though you never felt my body along yours, on top of yours, underneath yours.  
  
You're hurt. Yet you try to deny the images that you see when you close your eyes. You pretend that it doesn't feel incredible to fuck and be fucked, to hold me and use me and be with me. You act like you're not empty, like there is no hole in you. You pretend that you've never writhed under the touch of the one you're supposed to hate. You pretend that you've never experienced ecstasy.  
  
You're hurt. I can tell in the deadened look your eyes give off, in the paleness of your skin, in the shadows that haunt your eyes. I can see the pain and the anger, everything that I have given to you.  
  
You hurt and I don't care.  
  
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I'm scared. I've never been scared in my entire life. Not when my father hit me. Not when the Dark Lord pressed his wand to my arm and forever scarred my skin. Not when I watched friends fall. Not when death was upon me, and I narrowly escaped. Fear was something foreign to me, something that was weak to associate myself with.  
  
I'm scared. There have been whispers, I've heard them. You wanted to die. You wanted to throw away your life and drain your blood, and watch as the world collapsed around you. You wanted to escape the pain and the suffering and the pressure and close your eyes for one final time. You wanted to forget about me and what I did to you. You didn't want to struggle. You didn't want to fight back when they grabbed you and took you away and thrust their wands into your throat. You didn't scream because you couldn't be bothered to. You didn't fight back because you wanted to be enveloped by death, and you wanted to show me that I would have nothing left to live for.  
  
I'm scared. This should not have happened. You weren't supposed to fall in love, it was wrong and you knew it and yet you threw yourself in headfirst. I warned you and I hurt you but you wouldn't listen. And look where is got us. You were hurt by me and because of me.  
  
I'm scared. I shouldn't have felt that flash of terror, shouldn't have felt my knees give out, shouldn't have had to be sick in the bathroom. I shouldn't have felt fear, shouldn't have wanted to save you, shouldn't have been hit with grief and guilt and self loathing.  
  
I'm scared. I almost lost you.  
  
I'm scared. I had never told you my secret, had never found the courage to admit what I could never tell myself. I had never cried and never been forced to feel.  
  
I'm scared. I never told you I loved you. 


	2. Ch 2

It was some time ago that I first noticed you staring at me.  
  
I was eating breakfast, and I could feel your gaze burning me, from far across the hall. I raised my head to meet your eyes, and the fire in them peaked my curiosity.  
  
I had always enjoyed taunting you and angering you, and the darkest parts of me wanted to hurt you, and break you, and make you experience true pain, beautiful in it's lightest moments, terrifying in it's darkest. When I saw your stare I knew there was more than annoyance and petty rivalry - you wanted something - and by the way you stared, by the way you worried your lower lip, by the way your emotions were laid out clear across your face, I knew that you wanted me.  
  
Who was I to deny you? It was the perfect opportunity to break something beautiful. Who was I to deny myself a true source of pleasure?  
  
As I looked at you I envisioned taking you then and there, pushing you onto the table and claiming your mouth, tearing moans and growls from your throat, making you crave and want and need. It was then that I decided to take action, to take the chance to revel in your misery, while gaining my own satisfaction. I smirked at you, but softened my gaze, nodded briefly towards the entrance doors, then swept gracefully from the hall.  
  
It was only a few minutes until you joined me, and I could have laughed aloud at the absurdity of the situation. You were doing a better job of concealing your emotions, but the hitch in your breathing as I stepped closer to you was a glaring indication that you were not as composed as you wanted me to believe.  
  
I backed you up until you were against the wall, body pressed tightly to the cold stone. I placed a hand on either side of your head, and lowered my own until our foreheads nearly touched. I smirked as you blushed slightly, a tremor running along your body. I leaned closer still, until my lips touched your ear, and whispered, "Let me fuck you, Harry."  
  
You gasped softly, hands balled into fists at your sides, eyes staring desperately into my own. You leaned forward and barely placed your lips against my own. "If you'll let me," you said, and I could feel your lips moving. I slammed you against the wall and claimed your mouth as my own. You opened your mouth to me and we fought for dominance, pressed tightly together, aware of the reaction the other provoked. I put everything into that kiss, wanting you to burn for me, wanting you to admit defeat and give yourself to me.  
  
And you did.  
  
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I'll never know how we made it to my room. We stumbled and tripped down stairs and through dark halls, never losing touch of the other, never breaking the contact of our fused mouths. Your robes were opened and my vest pulled off, even before we reached our destination. I hurriedly said the password, and then we were inside, and almost running, desperate to make it to my bed.  
  
A furtive glace around to make sure we were alone, a few silencing spells, and we were secure. I pushed you on the bed and in one smooth motion pulled your sweater and undershirt off, and lowered my head to your neck, biting and sucking, smirking as you gasped and squirmed. I made my way down your chest, which was surprisingly muscular, and was pulling your fly down when I felt you shift.  
  
Suddenly I was the one on my back, and you were tearing my clothes off, eager to find my own skin. If I had had any preconceptions of your lack of experience, I was immediately proved wrong. You knew all the right places, and I was amazed when the moans I was hearing proved to be my own. Angry at myself, I once again took control, pulling a quick maneuver that trapped you beneath me. My hands finished their previous journey and divested you of your pants, and then somehow my own were off, and it was skin against skin.  
  
I doubt I have ever felt anything nicer. It was like fire, your skin burning beneath mine, and I couldn't get enough of it. You thrust your hips up and we were connected so intimately, and it was all I could do to not lose control and come right then and there.  
  
Growling, I grabbed your hips and forced them down, then ground my pelvis into yours. The look on your face was incredible - such sheer ecstasy was evident, your eyes shining brightly, your mouth open and inviting. I kissed you again, with as much force as I could, and when you moaned I could feel it in my mouth.  
  
I was so hard, so very, very hard, and you were so very, very enticing. Using saliva, I prepared you, as you squirmed and sighed and clutched my shoulders, wrapping your legs around my waist as I entered you. It was hot and tight, and it was heaven. I had been with many before, but you were special. Though I felt nothing but lust for you then, there was always that something, that small spark that threatened to flare into something unimaginable, and at that moment I first felt it.  
  
I pumped and you were thrusting, and it was over quickly. My vision exploded and I'm almost certain that your name was in the scream I gave out, and I know that mine was in yours. I stayed in you for a few moments, letting myself catch my breath, feeling your heartbeat pound underneath me. Finally I pulled away and collapsed beside you, watching as your chest rose and fell, listened as your breathing finally evened out.  
  
Then it was time to leave, seeing as my roommates would return at any moment, and the sight of a very naked, very sweaty Potter was something that they would not have properly appreciated. You dressed quickly and made to leave, but I stopped you at the last minute, kissing you roughly. Your eyes widened considerably, but you said nothing. I whispered "You're mine."  
  
The look you gave me was priceless - there was disbelief and a small glimmer of hope, until I pushed you out the door and slammed it behind you.  
  
It was sometime until I finally heard your footsteps leave.  
  
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We met several times that week, and several the next, and so on. Our encounters were always charged, our eagerness and desperation unmatched by anything else that we knew. We were always rough, but perhaps our roughest time yet was on the day that I found the black armband.  
  
It was lying in the Quidditch locker rooms, a small, black armband, sitting glaringly on the clean tiles. We had just finished a combined session of practice, and were the last ones into the showers. You had started a shower, and I was preparing to join you, when I noticed the band.  
  
I picked it up and twirled it around. You noticed it and stopped dead in your tracks.  
  
"Potter, this is a Hufflepuff armband, is it not?"  
  
Frankly, you looked terrified, as though you were imagining something horrible. You lost all the color in your face, and you halted completely, hands clenched into fists.  
  
"This is to remember Diggory, right Potter?" I asked, nonchalantly, sadistically enjoying your obvious pain.  
  
"Yes," you said, your voice uncharacteristically quiet.  
  
"Silly things," I scoffed. "If Diggory were stupid enough to get himself killed, why honor his ridiculous memory? Only the weak are killed."  
  
The fury that flashed in your eyes was incredible, as you stalked towards me.  
  
"What did you just say?" you asked, looking as though you would kill me that very moment.  
  
"Well I guess it's not really his fault now, is it? It was you that got him killed, after all."  
  
I heard you gasp, your fury falling as though something inside you finally fell and shattered - and then the anger was back. You hit me, hard. I stumbled backwards and before I knew it you had jumped me, slamming me to the ground. You hit me hard in the stomach, hard in the mouth, and I tasted blood.  
  
You grabbed the collar of my robes and slammed my head into the ground, hard enough that I saw stars. I retaliated by lifting a leg and kicking you hard in the chest. You went sprawling backwards, and I quickly straddled you. I then grabbed your collar and lifted your face to mine.  
  
"You'll never fucking do that again," I spat, before crushing my lips to yours, biting roughly on your lower lip, tasting as your blood mixed with mine. You moaned low in your throat, and your hands clutched my shoulders, nails raking along my skin. I pushed you down again and flipped you over, ripping your pants and boxers off, leaving you open and waiting.  
  
You made a motion to get up, but I slammed you down, hastily undoing my own pants. I entered you without preparing you, and the scream you gave made my head spin. I began thrusting roughly, and to my amazement you lifted your arms up and met them, head thrown back, moans pouring out of your enticing mouth.  
  
I picked up the pace and grabbed you, pumping, and your strength gave you, making you collapse on the floor. I bit your neck harshly, and I could hear you whimpering. You were mumbling incoherently.  
  
"I didn't mean it, it's not my fault, I didn't mean it, it's not my fault, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry, oh god, oh god, oh god."  
  
I grabbed your hips and yanked you towards me and you came, spurting onto the cold floor, and seconds later I followed, the exquisite feel of power and pleasure burning in my veins.  
  
"That's what it feels like to have power," I growled, pulling out, pushing you off to the side.  
  
"I hope you enjoyed it." I said, and you looked at me strangely, waiting to hear the rest of my sentence.  
  
".murderer."  
  
Something in you broke. You lowered your eyes and looked away, fury and hostility and rage pushed aside. I saw a solitary tear fall, and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at me. The humiliation and pain and grief and guilt were glaring at me, screaming your pain from your gaze. You tried to twist away, but I held on as the tears welled and you began to cry in earnest. A great shuddering gasp escaped from you, and you began to shake, as you rocked your body back and forth.  
  
"I didn't mean it, it's not my fault, oh god, I didn't mean it, I didn't want it to happen, oh god, oh god, oh god."  
  
I stared at you the whole time, expression blank, eyes cold.  
  
"I hate you," you spat, finally regaining some of the anger you had had.  
  
"You're a fucking bastard," you shouted, wrenching you head from my grasp.  
  
I sighed and stood up, and your eyes followed my movements.  
  
"Potter, I don't care. I just don't care enough to feel for you."  
  
I left you alone on the cold floor, alone with the sobs that started, alone with the tears that streamed down your face, alone with the guilt that was eating you from the inside.  
  
I left, and left you all alone.  
  
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It was the next day, and I was making my way to potions, hurrying because I was late. I had just rounded the last corner, when I ran straight into something solid and large.  
  
Weasley.  
  
He stood before me, attempting to look strong and foreboding. Which, at a good 3 or 4 inches taller than me, he did. Or would have, if it were not for lack of muscles.  
  
He crossed his arms and glared, trying his best to intimidate me. I was curious as to what he was going to say, but intimidated, I was not.  
  
"What the hell have you done to Harry?" he asked, eyes narrowing to tiny, angry slits.  
  
"What do you mean, Weasley?" I asked, exasperated.  
  
"You know what I mean. I don't know what you guys have been doing, but he came in the other night looking like shit. He had obviously been crying, and when I asked what happened all he said was your name."  
  
I tried not to look smug, but the smirk came out anyway. "So sorry, Weasley, he must have not mentioned our, 'activities', to you."  
  
He looked confused, but quickly pushed it away. "What are you talking about?" he asked.  
  
"We've been fucking," I said, simply.  
  
His mouth dropped open and he took a startled step back. "You WHAT?!" he asked, looking completely confused. "You have not! Don't go saying things like that, you nasty little ferret!"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "The truth hurts, does it not?"  
  
He growled and stepped closer, stepping so that we were practically touching. "Don't you dare spread horrible lies like that. You're disgusting," he spat.  
  
"It's not disgusting - he's quite good at it, actually, and-" I was going to add something more, but he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall.  
  
"You shut the fuck up, right now," he said, eyes blazing.  
  
I grinned widely, knowing I must have looked crazy. "He is though. But I give as good as I get. He loves when I lick his skin, you know, especially that small birth mark on his inner thigh."  
  
Weasley looked as though I had slapped him. He dropped me immediately and took several steps back.  
  
"How, how did you know, he doesn't tell anyone about that, it's.private."  
  
My grin widened even more. "He never told me - I found it on my own."  
  
He made a strangled noise, and stared at me in disbelief. We stood like that for several seconds, until he turned and hurried away.  
  
I smiled. 


	3. Ch 3

The castle was unbearably cold. No matter how many layers I put on, I was freezing.  
  
I hate being cold.  
  
Potions was by far the worst - the room was a virtual icebox. Rather than any heat being trapped in the confines of the windowless room, it seemed that all the cold air had been pushed in, and was wrapping it's icy fingers on the unfortunate students that now occupied the room. Namely, the 6th year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Namely, myself. I suppressed a shiver, and tried my hardest to pay attention to whatever Snape was droning on about.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, I still hadn't warmed up, and I still hadn't heard a word the stupid traitor had said. I watched him, rather, trying my see why the man would be stupid enough to turn his back on his Leader.  
  
On our Leader.  
  
I hadn't received my mark, but was looking forward to the day when I would be deemed old enough, intelligent enough, and cruel enough to be bestowed with it. Although I wasn't an official member, my father was, and he told me enough to give me some semblance of idea as to what the current talk was. He suspected Snape of being a spy - an idea I had had a few times myself. The man was wretched, really, lonely and callous, cold, but not capable of seduction. He holed himself in his dungeons, and came out only to do the bidding of that mindless old idiot, Dumbledore. My father spoke of Snape with great disdain, and I had felt honored that I was let in on such private information, and proud to know my mind was like my fathers - calculating, and conniving, able to spot things that others would disregard, or not even see in the first place.  
  
My musings over Snape were halted, as I felt eyes on me, a steady glare from my right. I turned my head and saw that Potter was staring at me, his alarmingly green eyes focused solely on my own, his gaze harsh and questioning. I sneered at him, and was pleased when he looked taken aback, and focused on the parchment in front of him.  
  
I often caught him staring at me, his unwavering emerald gaze piercing me, during classes, during meals, during Quidditch, during our "sessions". whether they be in his bed, in mine, that memorable time in Weasley's, in a broom closet, in the locker rooms, in the dark corner near the third staircase of the West Tower .  
  
Sometimes it annoyed me - not because he stared at me, but because of the way he did it. He always looked as though he knew something I didn't; as though he knew there was something worthy in me, something redeemable. He believed that our time together would change me for the better - that his caresses, his murmurs against my skin, his tongue exploring every crevice of my body, would be the hand I needed to pull me from my future. Everything was black and white to him - you were either good or bad, noble or deceitful, cruel or kind. He could not see the gray, the in-between, the not-quiet, and the not-yet. The world was simple to him; he could not understand the way I felt, or the way I was expected to feel. My own destiny was paved far before I was aware of it, and truth be told, I agreed with it. I waited for the day I would follow my father, and be worthy to spread the darkness of Our Lord.  
  
Harry was my distraction, but not my set-back. He served his purpose, and served it well, a tumble of lips and tongue and movements and heat. I knew he wanted more, but there was nothing more I had to offer. He wanted my heart, but I had none to give.  
  
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We were in my bed one night, just finished with an especially good fuck. He lay next to me, panting softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. My own breathing was rapid and thick, and we were both particularly sweaty. After a few minutes, I expected him to leave, to get up and walk away as he had done numerous times before - but he didn't. He turned towards me, almost hesitantly, gaze once again fixed on my own.  
  
"Draco," he started, voice low and heavy.  
  
I looked at him warily, wondering what had prompted this. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly, encouraging him to spit out whatever he had to say. He lowered his gaze and fiddled with the seam of my blanket.  
  
"Potter," I said, feeling annoyed.  
  
"Do you - do you think that I could possibly stay?" he asked, eyes flickering up to mine, then back down to the blanket below. It was my turn to stare.  
  
"You want to stay?" I asked, voice thick with disdain. The request seemed ludicrous - he never stayed, and I certainly never invited him to. He looked back at me, with apprehension, nervously biting his bottom lip.  
  
"Get out," I said.  
  
"What?" came his startled reply. My answer had carried more venom than I thought.  
  
"Out," I repeated, pointing towards the door.  
  
"Draco," he started again, but I silenced him by snatching the blankets from him. "Out." I repeated, angry that he had asked such a question. A hurt look briefly crossed his features, before he hurried out of the bed, dressing hastily, and moving quickly toward the door.  
  
"You're . never mind. Never mind at all" he said quietly, though his voice shook slightly. I saw that his eyes were unusually bright, and realized that they were full of unshed tears. He slipped his invisibility cloak over his head, silently opened the door, and a moment later was gone.  
  
I sighed and turned over, laying face first into my pilow. I cursed under my breath, and had the fleeting desire to chase after him and throw him against the wall. I wanted to scare him, then make him bleed, and teach him not to feel emotions. The idiot was falling for me, and I wanted none of it. Not bothering to shut my curtains, I soon feel asleep.  
  
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I awoke some indeterminable time later. The light of the full moon spilled over my face, blinding me. I opened my eyes and squinted, blinking away sleep. I somehow had managed to move to the other side of the bed, and realized that I had ended up where Harry had been. The spot was warm and comforting, and I immediately felt disgusted with myself for thinking such sentimental thoughts.  
  
But I did not move.  
  
I laid there, gazing out the window, letting my eyes adjust to the intrusion of light. The moon was large and very white, its rays blindingly brilliant. It seemed as though it were there solely for me, hovering outside my window. It reminded me of myself, in it's coldness, and it's unreachable status. I smiled thinly at that, inwardly laughing that I could be compared to the moon.  
  
I vaguely wondered where Professor Lupin, the werewolf, was, and if Harry felt the pain and suffering of his former teacher and friend. My small grin quickly turned into a scowl - everything always had to go back to Harry.  
  
The full moon had always intrigued him, he told me once, as he sat on the stairs looking out the window. I was getting impatient, waiting for him to come to me so that I could relieve the stress of the day, but he had sat there for several minutes, lost in the full moon. He said it brought him hope, brought him something to reach for, to try and grasp. He always was so good and pure. He wanted the untouchable, and I watched time and again as he was hurt by its sharp edges. Such prizes are unreachable for a reason. Some things were never meant to be taken.  
  
Sitting in my bed, in the spot that Harry had laid in, I lost myself to my thoughts. The moon was glaring at me in its own way, and I felt overburdened with the constant attention I had focused my way. I reached out to my curtains and started to pull them shut, when a sudden blind fear overcame me. I suddenly felt that if I were to block out the light I would be forever lost in the darkness, and then images of my father, of Voldemort, of the screaming of others as the Dark Mark was etched into their flesh spilled into my head, and I realized with a sick, hot feeling, that I was already lost in the darkness. I had been claimed, and had been willing, and I was forever destined to lie in the darkest of places.  
  
Once the images faded away, and once I realized I had been shaking - and forced myself to stop - I opened the curtains back up. I sat back against the expensive pillows, against the hardness of the headboard, against the dark that crawled along the corners of the bed, and in that moment, I hated myself.  
  
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He ignored me the next day - or tried to, at least. He scowled at me when our gazes met, but I could feel his eyes burning into me when I looked away. I just smirked at brushed by him, inwardly laughing when his breathing sped up. I didn't see him much, until Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, the giant oaf, had paired us together, and left us with whatever the current blood-thirsty animal of the week was. Harry was off in the corner, peering angrily at the creature, trying to decipher its head from its arse. I figured that the two would get along nicely.  
  
"Potter," I drawled, stepping closer. "Aren't we supposed to feed the damned thing?" I grinned for good measure, thoroughly enjoying how his eyes narrowed and he moved backwards.  
  
"Yes," he said, curtly, grabbing at a bucket on the ground. Without really looking at what he was doing, he dumped half the disgusting contents in front of the creature.  
  
"There," he said, "fed the stupid - oh." he said, breath catching, as I stepped close behind him.  
  
"That's not how you do it, Potter," I whispered, putting my arms around him, and grabbing the bucket. "Here, do it this way." I picked the bucket up with one hand, and with the other grabbed his tightly. "Now, pour it in slowly, carefully," I said, bending him slightly. He swallowed obviously.  
  
"Now, come on you can do it, slowly, steadily, smoothly," I said, my voice as quiet as I could make it. He was shaking ever so slightly, but he didn't push me away.  
  
"Now we need a little more force, to finish the job," I said, pushing my hips against his backside. His body started to tremble, his eyes focused solely on the creature in front of us. "There we go, almost done, just a bit more," I whispered, as I rocked my hips steadily.  
  
"So close," I murmured, as I leaned even closer, breathing the words into his ear. "So fucking close." He closed his eyes and made a small sound, pushing slightly back against me. I lightly licked his ear, breathing hot air onto it, eliciting another small, keen noise out of him. I pulled away, smirking, watching as he breathed harshly, eyes shut tightly.  
  
"Harry?" came a voice from our left. I spun around and saw Granger and Weasley staring at us, Granger's eyes wide with surprise, Weasley's filled with anger.  
  
Harry quickly moved away from me. "It's, it's not what it looks like," he said, helplessly. Weasley scoffed.  
  
"Oh, of course not. I've forgotten that in order to feed an animal, you have to have your worst fucking enemy grinding up against you. That must get the job done more efficiently, eh Harry?" he said, his voice sarcastic and hurt.  
  
Harry's face flushed, and he stared at the ground.  
  
"Come on, Hermione, let's get out of here," Weasley said, grabbing the Mudblood's hand and pulling her away.  
  
"What the fuck was that, Malfoy," he spat, now looking at me. "First you push me away, then you fucking come on to me in the middle of class, in front of everyone? What's your problem?"  
  
I sneered nastily at him. "You, Potter, you're my bloody problem."  
  
He sighed and pushed by me. "Just leave me alone," he said, as he walked by.  
  
I watched him go in amusement, and tried to push down the strange feeling I had as he told me to leave him alone. It was nothing, obviously. Just a stab at my pride. That's all. When class ended I walked back towards the castle alone, still trying to convince myself that Harry's words hadn't hurt me.  
  
I was always good at lying to myself. 


End file.
